LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMP Stories |
by Rich Barnett |
Ooooh That Smell...
I hadn't expected the French Quarter to smell so sweet. Not after Katrina. There was coffee with chicory in the morning and then with brandy, oranges, and cloves in the afternoon. Beignets and fried oyster Po'boys. Gardenias, magnolias, and petunias perfumed the evening air. Why, I'd venture so far as to label it romantic, considering that the smells I most often associate with the Quarter are vomit and stale beer. Sort of like a fraternity house, which is another type of romance altogether and not appropriate for this column.... Scents, we all know, conjure up the past, and each of us has our own aromatic history. Boiled lobsters forever remind me of Provincetown. Peonies, of my late mother. Smell is the most direct of all our senses, and scientists say that when our olfactory bulbs detect something, they send an uninterrupted signal to the brain, to the region known as the amygdala, that part of the brain that helps control emotion. Other senses don't do that so directly. Anyhow, I was recently with friends at Galatoire's for Friday lunch, a New Orleans' institution which inevitably stretches into the cocktail hour and then into evening. Nattily attired in seersucker and bowties, we were sipping Sazeracs and dining on some of the biggest soft shell crabs I'd ever seen, with a pound of lump crabmeat, slivered almonds, and Bernaise sauce. It was decadent, an olfactory and a gastronomical feast. I link the two because ninety percent of what is perceived as taste is actually smell. Somewhere between my fourth or fifth Sazeracnobody really keeps track of such things in NawlinsI began wondering about Rehoboth and all its fragrances. Back in the 20s and 30s, Rehoboth was touted as an ocean playground. Promotions of the day emphasized the invigorating salty breezes from the Atlantic and the health laden ozone from stately and fragrant pine groves. Ah, yes, the wooing scents of the pine and brine. They still season the town, but I have to wonder for how long, what with all the development going on and the over planting of those damn Bradford Pear trees. Have you ever smelled them? Why, the mass of small white flowers in the spring emit a stench akin to cat urine. The most familiar aroma around town, though, according to my luncheon companions, all of whom spend considerable amounts of time in Rehoboth, is that of the pommes frite. Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with that scent. I enjoy a big bucket of French fries, drizzled with salt and vinegar. When Hurricane Floyd grazed Rehoboth, Thrashers Fries was the only place that stayed open, a couple of swashbuckling young fellas serving up fries to the hardy weather enthusiasts. An olfactory beacon in the storm. But, Rehoboth offers so much more for your nose than just fried potatoes. Take a stroll around town on a summer night and savor the sweet scent of the honeysuckle, a vine long associated with affection, love, and lust. A plant that wakes when others sleep. Thickets of it grow wild in Rehoboth. Stop and smell the roses, literally, the fussy teas, the wild climbers, and the rugged rugosas, all of which seem to flourish in the sea air and sunshine. For a more intense aromatic experience, wander into the Blue Moon during happy hour this summer and encounter first hand the mlange of a hundred different colognes on a hundred different queens. Soaked and annointed, like the ancient Roman gladiators who applied scented oils all over their bodies before going into battle. Come Autumn, you must seek out the Elaeagnus, a sprawling shrub with silvery leaves whose tiny, cream colored, bell-shaped flowers grab you attention with their gardenia-like fragrance. You can find some big old specimens along Surf Avenue just north of the Boardwalk. They're not so much in vogue, as they tend not to be the prettiest shrub. But, I've planted one beside my outdoor shower and another on the side of my screened porch, just to capture the smell. A faint whiff of skunk on a rainy night. Suntan lotion on a supple muscular back. The icy clean of early dawn. Yes, there are many wonderful smells associated with Rehoboth if you just listen to your nose. Scientists say we can smell between 4,000 and 10,000 different odors. It's no wonder, then, that I'm unable to name my favorite Rehoboth smell. And even if I did, I'm not sure it would mean that it's the most memorable, the one that somewhere sometime will detonate and as if by magic transport me back to this little town on the shore. That's the thing about smell, though, you never know when it'll surprise you. Rich Barnett, an unabashed gay, liberal, tree-hugging, whiskey-drinking, Rehoboth cottage-owning story-teller, is working on a book and can be reached at Greenbarn@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 17, No. 6 June 1, 2007 |